Amy And Roger's Epic Detour Part 5

He'd already chosen Drake, Livingstone, and Sir Edmund Hillary. I took a guess and hoped it was right, as I wasn't sure how many more explorers I knew. "Is it Vasco da Gama?"

He sighed, but seemed happy. "Got it in five," he said. "Well done. Your turn."

"What's with the explorers?" I asked, figuring that four in a row had to be something of a theme, not just a strategy to keep beating me.

Roger shrugged, looking a little embarra.s.sed. He ran his hand through his hair, and it stood up in little tufts all over his head. I had an impulse to reach over and smooth it down. But it was an impulse I immediately squashed. "I've always been interested in them. Since I was a kid. I loved the idea that people could discover things. That you could be the person to see something first. Or see something that n.o.body else had been able to."

"Is that why you're a history major?"

He smiled without looking at me. "Probably. I started reading history like an instruction manual when I was a kid, trying to figure out what all these explorers did so that I could do it too. I used to be convinced that I was going to find something really important."

"But everything's been found by now," I said. I turned to face him a little more, pulling out my seat belt to give it some slack and leaning back against my window.

"Well, technically," he said, not seeming bothered by this. "But I think there are lots of things still to be discovered. You just have to be paying attention." I pulled one knee up and rested my chin on it, thinking about this. "G.o.d, I've been talking a lot," he said with a laugh. "Your turn. Tell me something about you."

That was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do, now or ever. "Oh, I don't know," I said. "I haven't discovered anything."

"Yet," Roger said emphatically, and I felt myself smiling again. But I looked over at him, with his subst.i.tute math teacher gla.s.ses and hopeful expression, and my smile faded. He hadn't learned yet that things didn't work out just because you wanted them to.

"Right," I said, reaching over and turning up the music, a song about a fake empire that, on the second listen, I'd found I really liked.

"But I'm serious," he said. "Tell me something about you. What is your ... biggest regret?"

I hadn't been expecting that question, but I knew immediately what the answer was, and I closed my eyes against it. The morning in March, carrying my flip-flops, my feet covered in gra.s.s clippings. The one thing I really, really didn't want to think about.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "No idea."

Yesterday, when you were young ...

-The Weepies.

MARCH 8- 8-THREE MONTHS EARLIER "So then what happened?" Julia asked breathlessly.

"Stop it," I said, laughing into the phone. I was sitting on the front steps of the house, talking to her while my father mowed the lawn. My mother and I were always teasing him about the lawn. He tended to be kind of a slob with everything else, but about the lawn, he was beyond fastidious. It never looked like it needed mowing, mostly because he spent every Sat.u.r.day morning doing just that. "There's an art to it," he always insisted. "I'd like to see you try!"

As I watched, he pivoted the mower at a sharp 90-degree angle to get the corner of the lawn. "There's really nothing to tell," I said, turning my attention back to Julia.

"Yeah, right," she said, and I could hear she was laughing too, which always made me happy, as Julia was usually a little too composed, always considering her words before she said them. "I need details, Amy."

I could feel myself smile. I'd had a date-and a pretty epic make-out session-with Michael the night before. And Julia was always the first person I told about these things. Somehow, if I didn't talk to her about it, it didn't seem real. "It was good," I said, and could hear her sigh loudly over the phone, all the way from Florida.

"Details!" she said again.

"My dad dad is out here," I said into the phone, lowering my volume. "I can't talk about this now." is out here," I said into the phone, lowering my volume. "I can't talk about this now."

"Tell Julia I say hi," my father called, as he pivoted the mower again.

"Put your back into it!" I called to him, and he smiled as he headed in the other direction, for an overgrown patch invisible to everyone but him.

"Come on," Julia said. "Give me the scoop. Things are going well with you and the college boy?"

I looked over to check that my father was out of earshot. "Yes," I said, settling back against the step, preparing for one of our marathon conversations. "Okay. So last night he picked me up at eight."

"And what did you wear?" she prompted.

"Amy," my mother said, in the doorway behind me. I lowered the phone and looked at her. She seemed stressed, and usually Sat.u.r.day was the one day she took off from that.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Have you seen your brother?"

I could feel my pulse begin to race a little bit at that, as I tried in an instant to figure out what the right answer would be. Charlie hadn't sent me an alibi text, so I was in the dark as to what he'd told Mom and Dad he was doing, and what he'd actually ended up doing. "No," I said, finally.

"He's not upstairs," my mother said. She frowned, staring out at the cul-de-sac. "I'm going to check again," she said, heading back inside.

"Sorry," I said to Julia. "Charlie drama."

"How is he?" Julia asked. Julia had had a huge crush on Charlie back in middle school, but it has faded out during high school, when he headed down a very different path than we did.

"About the same," I said. This was to say, not very well. I knew Julia would understand what I meant. I looked back to the house and realized I should probably do some recon, to try and get in front of this before it got worse. "I should go."

"Okay," Julia said. "But call me later? Promise?"

"Of course," I said. I hung up with her and pulled the door open, taking just a moment to look back at my father, in his element, puttering along behind the mower, whistling to himself.

A love-struck Romeo sings a streetsuss serenade.

-Dire Straits.

I sat on the edge of the king-size bed, trying not to disturb the rose petals scattered on it, waiting for Roger to come out of the bathroom and trying to figure out how, exactly, this had happened. Again.

It had taken longer than we'd thought it would to reach Delta, the first town in Utah on Highway 50. By that point I was truly concerned about Roger, who had been driving for the better part of a day. Most of the motels we pa.s.sed had the NO NO in their vacancy signs illuminated, and I had begun to worry what would happen if we couldn't find somewhere to stay in Delta. On the map, it looked like the next town was probably another hour away, and I had a feeling Roger just wasn't going to be up for that. in their vacancy signs illuminated, and I had begun to worry what would happen if we couldn't find somewhere to stay in Delta. On the map, it looked like the next town was probably another hour away, and I had a feeling Roger just wasn't going to be up for that.

We'd finally pulled into the Beehive Inn to see what the situation was. As it looked a little nicer than the roadside motels, it wasn't advertising its occupancy in neon on its sign. We'd gotten out of the car, and as I walked to the entrance, I felt the tightness in my leg muscles, and how much my b.u.t.t was aching from sitting for that long. I could feel myself getting nervous as we stepped through the automatic gla.s.s doors and into the lobby, which seemed jarringly bright after the night's drive. I'd never tried to check in by myself at a hotel before. Was I even allowed to? Did you have to be eighteen? Was that why my mother had made reservations for us-because I wouldn't be able to do it alone?

My heart was pounding as I reached the front desk. The hotel itself seemed nice, if a little aggressively homey, with quilts covering every available surface. Before I could look around too much, though, we were greeted by a frazzled-looking desk clerk.

"Are you the Udells?" he asked, looking from me to Roger.

"What?" I asked, thrown, as this wasn't a question I'd been expecting. And Roger, who was literally swaying on his feet at this point, didn't seem in a state of mind to answer it.

"I've been saving our last room for you," he said, frowning at me and typing on his computer. "Even though I got that message that you were canceling the reservation. I've been holding it open, since you booked in advance."

"And that's the last room available tonight?" I asked, looking over at Roger, whose eyes were drifting shut, then snapping open again.

"Yes," the clerk said a little testily.

"Right," I said, thinking fast. If these Udells had canceled, they most likely weren't coming. And it was three thirty in the morning, and Roger clearly needed to crash as soon as possible. "That's us," I said smiling brightly. "The Udells." That seemed to wake Roger up a little, and he blinked at me, surprised.

"Finally," the clerk muttered. "All right. Names?" he asked, fingers poised over his keyboard.

"Oh," I said, "Well. That's ... Edmund. And I'm Hillary." Roger glanced over at me, a little more sharply, and I tried to shrug as subtly as possible.

I think the clerk began to doubt us when I wasn't able to tell him the zip code of Salt Lake City, and when Roger, who'd joined in the conversation by this point, explained that we didn't have a cell number to give, because those things were just fads. But I think at that point the clerk just wanted us to go. I paid in cash from my mother's sock-drawer fund, so that the Udells, whoever they were, wouldn't be charged. Then he'd handed us a key-not a key card, but a real old-fashioned bra.s.s key, with a small heart charm dangling from it.

"Enjoy your stay," he said, with an odd smile and a raised eyebrow. I thanked him, and Roger and I headed off to find the room.

Which turned out to be the Honeymoon Suite.

I stared at the plaque with its curly writing for a moment, hoping that it was a joke. But it wasn't-the key fit into the lock, and it explained the clerk's leer and the heart charm. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, and could feel myself blushing as I took in the room. The white quilt of the king-size bed was covered in rose petals, and to the side of the bed was a bottle of champagne bobbing in a bucket of water. This seemed weird until I realized it had probably been ice a few hours ago. Roger closed the door behind us and I looked up at him, hoping my face wasn't the same color as my hair.

"So ...," I started, incredibly embarra.s.sed, and not even sure what I could could say about this. "Um ..." say about this. "Um ..."

"Nice choice of rooms, Hillary," he said with a faint smile. Maybe he was too tired to be embarra.s.sed, but he wasn't even blushing.

"I'm really sorry," I said. "But they only had this one left-"

"It's fine," he said. "I'm going to change first, if that's cool." He headed toward the bathroom, carrying his duffel.

"Sure," I said, still staring at the bed. When Roger closed the bathroom door, I looked in the mirror and saw that my blushing had more or less subsided. Then I checked out the room. It had been awhile since I'd been in a real hotel-the cabin in Yosemite didn't count. It was nice, too-there was a memo pad on the desk in the corner of the room, with a yellow and black BEEHIVE MOTEL BEEHIVE MOTEL pen, and I took both, stashing them in my purse. As I did, it occurred to me that this was the first time I was staying in a hotel without my family. And I was in the honeymoon suite. With a college guy. pen, and I took both, stashing them in my purse. As I did, it occurred to me that this was the first time I was staying in a hotel without my family. And I was in the honeymoon suite. With a college guy.

Just as I had this jarring thought, Roger came out of the bathroom, yawning, dressed in the same shorts-and-T-shirt combo he'd worn the night before. It wasn't so startling, now that I'd known to expect it. Roger looked at the bed as well. "It seems a shame to wreck it," he said, and I looked down at the rose petals and realized that they'd been arranged in the shape of a heart.

I looked away, grabbed my own suitcase, and headed for the bathroom. "I don't think the Udells will mind," I said as casually as I could. I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, letting out a breath. I knew Roger was tired, but clearly he hadn't been too tired to notice that the whole room had been set up with the expectation that the people staying in it would be having s.e.x.

We were in the honeymoon suite honeymoon suite. The expectation of s.e.x was in the very atmosphere, like perfume, but less subtle. This was worse than sharing a bed in Yosemite, even if this bed was bigger. It was like there was an elephant in the room. An elephant that expected us to have s.e.x. I could feel myself blushing again, and thanks to the bathroom mirror, I was able to have visual proof as well. Trying to think about other things, I looked around the bathroom and saw that the tub was built for two, with complimentary bubble bath and a small dish of rose petals waiting on the tub's edge.

Stalling, and also taking advantage of the fact that this bathroom was in-suite, and not a five-minute walk through bear-friendly territory like it had been last night, I took a long shower. Then I got changed for bed, swapping the long-sleeved shirt I'd worn the night before for a T-shirt, figuring that it wouldn't be as cold here. As I combed out my hair, I tried not to focus on how much hair was left behind in the comb when I finished. I just packed up my toiletries, adding in the bubble bath, the complimentary shampoo, the sewing kit, and the hand lotion.

When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that Roger was already under the covers on his side, with his eyes closed. So maybe he wasn't bothered by any of the weird room pressure at all.

Roger had turned off all the lights but one, the small chintz-covered bedside lamp on the left side-my side. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I slipped under the covers and snapped off the light. I turned on my side and looked across at Roger, who was curled up, facing me. Sleeping next to him didn't seem as scary to me as it had yesterday. Had it only been yesterday?

I watched him for a moment. Then, even though I was sure the night before had been a fluke, and I wasn't going to get any sleep, I let my eyes close. "Good night, Roger," I murmured.

After a moment, Roger surprised me by replying-I was sure he'd fallen asleep. "'Night," he said. "But the name's Edmund."

3.

Colorado Springs Eternal

There's no surf in Colorado.

-Bowling for Soup.

"Hi, it's Amy's phone. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. Thanks!"

Beep.

"Amelia. This is your mother. I'm not happy that you didn't call me back yesterday. I'm getting concerned, especially since none of the hotels seem to have a record of you checking in. Call me immediately."

"Hi, you've reached Pamela Curry. Please leave a message with your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as I am able. Thank you."

Beep.

"Hi, Mom. Wow, I guess we keep missing each other. Weird. But things are fine! There's no need to be concerned. We, um, hit traffic outside of ... Oklahoma, which we are way past by now. So we've been a little behind. But we've been finding hotels with no problem. And the driving is fine, and everything is going okay. So no need to worry!"

"Is it a man?" Roger asked me.

"Yes," I said. "Sixteen."

"Is he alive?"

"No. Fifteen."

"Is he an explorer?"

"Only you would ask that. No," I said.

"You ask me that every time." ask me that every time."

"Because you keep choosing explorers."

"Fair point. Is he famous?"

"Yes. Fourteen."

"Hmm." Roger drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and I curled my legs up under me and looked out the window.

The sun was just beginning to set-we'd been driving all day. We'd gotten a later start than we wanted because, to my shock, I had slept through the night again and was still fast asleep when the irate desk clerk called us at what I thought was ten. But since neither of us had adjusted for the time change, it was actually eleven, and we were in danger of getting charged for a late checkout. We'd hit the road and actually stopped along the way to sit down and eat both breakfast and lunch. I'd discovered that I loved diners, and Roger loved diner jukeboxes.

The drive through Utah-during which I'd learned that John Cabot had possibly discovered Canada and Roger learned who Stephen Sondheim was-was absolutely breathtaking. The scenery was even more stunning than it had been on Highway 50, mostly because there was now something to look at. And what there was to look at took my breath away. It was strangely otherworldish-these huge red plateaus and fantastic little drift-wood trees that I couldn't stop taking pictures of, much to Roger's delight, since he thought that taking pictures of trees was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. As it had been the day before, it was as though someone had opened up the landscape and you could just see forever, underneath a sky that, I swear, was bigger and bluer than it had been in Nevada.

Now that we were back on the interstate, we were seeing road signs again, and most of them were new to me. In addition to the inexplicable OPEN RANGE CAUTION OPEN RANGE CAUTION, there were animal signs I'd never seen before-an antelope, a cow, and a cow with horns. There were deer signs too, but I'd seen those for the first time near Yosemite. But it worried me that, without warning, a cow with horns might be running across the interstate. And that this had happened frequently enough that they'd had to erect a sign to warn people about it.

As we crossed into Colorado, slowly but surely the landscape changed again. The open flatness we'd had in Nevada and Utah became more mountainous, and suddenly the pine trees were back. The grades of the incline were now posted on signs on the side of the road, and the road was getting more winding and much steeper as we crossed actual mountains. We'd climb and climb, and then go downhill sharply. The Liberty was fine with this, but it seemed that the steep grades were an issue for the truckers-especially the downhill grades. There were signs that I couldn't believe were real, that seemed to offer truckers stream-of-consciousness support for these roads. STEEP GRADE AHEAD, TRUCKERS! USE CAUTION! STEEP GRADE AHEAD, TRUCKERS! USE CAUTION! and and TRUCKERS! IT'S NOT OVER YET! MORE 6% GRADE AND WINDING ROADS TRUCKERS! IT'S NOT OVER YET! MORE 6% GRADE AND WINDING ROADS! The one that I stared at the longest, however: IF BRAKES FAIL, DO NOT EXIT. STAY ON INTERSTATE IF BRAKES FAIL, DO NOT EXIT. STAY ON INTERSTATE. I mean, what? That seemed like terrible advice to me, and whenever we were behind a truck, I found myself watching its brake lights, making sure they were flashing red.